


Crystal Cove

by NashDale



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NashDale/pseuds/NashDale
Summary: Seven years have passed since high-school. Scooby is dead. The gang has moved away -all but Shaggy. He runs a private investigation firm out of his apartment, his life is a fading memory like Mystery Incorporated. Fred, Velma, and Daphne have since moved on, but all find themselves drawn back to their hometown for different reasons. Meanwhile, Madamus -vampire Mafia don- adds another name to his ledger. Waiting.





	1. Madamus

_Upstate New York - June 20th, 1945_

"Bring me a new cat," Madamus whispered to Michael. He leaned back in the chair.

Layered linen blocked the window, but a dim indication of sunlight still leaked through. It wasn't enough to burn his skin, though his arms grew numb and hot He thumbed the silk aside, and peered out across the gardens. The light was needles on his eye, but the sight was worth the pain.

The wedding had reached it's peak. Doves flew in small flocks above rows of family, and friends all wearing white and black. Carmella and Virgil embraced -his navy medallions reflecting sunlight, and her diamonds glittering. Together, they glowed.

The sunlight was overbearing. Madamus drew back to his desk, still clutching the cat. Vito now stood in the corner, replacing Michael.

"Angelo's arrived," Vito said. "You want me to send him in?"

"Did I ask for him to be sent in?" Madamus waited for an answer, it never came. Eventually Vito realized Madamus wanted a response, so he shook his head. "Then don't send him in," Madamus put the cat in the center of the table. "I'll have time for my son once business is complete, and the festivities are over. Anyways, I'm sure he wants to watch his sisters wedding."

"And you don't?"

"I've seen more weddings than you've seen women," Madamus smiled. "I want you to fetch Kristopher Benito from the crowd. I need a word with him"  _He's seen the bulk of the wedding. Only drinking and buffoonery for the remainder of the night._

Vito nodded his head, and left the room. With a serrated comb, Madamus gently took small tufts of the cats white fur, and tossed them into a neat pile.  _I'll have Vito clean it up later._

He swore he could see the red rose in his breast-pocket wilting. It was minute -almost non-existent- but still, it was there. Age only made degradation more apparent. Madamus had seen his family die a dozen times, and on certain occasions he had killed them off himself. It was all part of the cycle.

He fingered the collar of his tuxedo. It was tight, and uncomfortable. Compared to what he had to wear during his childhood -before the  _Binding_ \- the rigid clothing may as well have been silk night-gowns. Back then they wore pastel wigs infested with lice, and cobweb lace that strangled you tight enough to make your breathes whistle. Buttons were non-existent; everything needed to be tied.  _Misery in the form of clothing._

He set the comb aside. A small patch of the cat's bare skin was now exposed. Madamus took the cat back into his lap, and pet its head.

Vito came through the door without knocking. Kristopher Benito slack lined behind him meekly. He held his hats in jittery hands.  _This one needs help, but he won't ask for it._ Madamus thought.  _The Benito's always pay their debts._

"Madamus... I-i appreciate the invitation to your daughters wedding, and to your office now. I know today must be incredibly busy, and stressful, but-"

"Please, sit down. Relax," Madamus motioned him to sit. "Vito, why don't you get us  _both_  a drink. You do drink, do you?"

"I do."

"Well I have some wine that will change your life."

Kristopher smiled.

"Aged six-hundred years," Vito goaded, the bottle comically large in his arms.

"I didn't know they aged wine that long," Kris said.

"They don't -not usually. But this wine is special," Madamus said. "It could last another six-thousand years, and still be as sweet," he took the bottle from Vito, and manipulated it in his hands. His eyes scanned the fading label. "From the year I was born, actually."

He poured the wine in equal measures. It was sweet, not a hint of bitter, but it had a thickness to it. The inky liquid lingered in your throat, and sat in your stomach warmly. One sip made you want to take another, and each one tasted better than the last.

"This is the best wine I've ever had," Kristopher said.

"Strange that I would call you to my office, before my own son, isn't it?" Madamus said quietly. "I bet you're wondering about that right now, no?"

Kristopher nearly choked on his wine. "In all respect, Madamus, my thoughts are far from this wedding, or your son."

Madamus had a habit of guessing others thoughts, but he was never any good at it. On most occasions it only lead him to wild assumptions. That being said, age  _had_  lifted the veil of social projections, but it only did  _so_ much. Plus, Madamus assumed any good psychologist should be able to view an individual without that veil,

"But I am curious as to why you called me into your office? To be honest, I thought someone was gonna slit my throat the second I sat down!" Kris exclaimed, smiling. Madamus did not smile. Kris went pale. "I know you knew my father, and his father."

"And respected both of them. You know, neither one of them  _ever_  asked me for a favor. And I doubt you ever will either, even if you need the help," Madamus goaded.

"I realize my families tribulation have been a public spectacle this last year. The media is ...harsh. Yet, understandably. My sons actions were despicable."

"I would agree that your sons actions were despicable; any crime against a child will stir the masses enough for a public flaying," he smiled. "Many of my men would be vehemently opposed to your sons action, I imagine some would even find it morally just to attack you because of it. But that doesn't matter, this is solely between us -the Benito's and the Asters. I want you to understand that I would never hold a man accountable for the actions of his seed."

"I'm not going to ask for your help, Madamus," he said sternly. "Again, I appreciate your gratuity -the wine is splendid, and your family out of a painting. But like I said, you knew my father, and I know that your help  _always_  comes at a price."

"This is true. If you accept my help, I ask a favor upon you -or your family. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a generation, but I  _will_  ask for the favor."

"Why did you call me into your office?" Kristopher asked.

"Because I respected your father, and it's clear you need help. I know your family to be intelligent, and well established, but all of you are stubborn. You don't ask for help, so I'm giving you a gentle nudge."

"Like you said, your help comes at a price."

"An exchange of favors," Madamus said. "I did you a favor by bringing you into my home -my office- and giving you the  _option_ ," Madamus said. "Offering you free help would be idiotic, I would gain  _nothing_ from it, understand?" it was clear he was growing irritated. His voice grew louder, and clearer. "But I feel an obligation to your father, to your  _family_  to at least offer my hand, with the repercussions transparent."

"How can you help us? Even if you get my son out of the trouble he's in, he's still guilty, and he deserved to be in prison, or worse."

"But what if the media could be swayed. what if the story could be  _shifted_ ," Madamus said.

"I still don't understand what you could do, or how you could it."

"I have done it before, and my talons extend further than the news, boy." The cat crawled from his lap to the desk, it's green eyes gazing deeply into the Benito heir jittering in his chair. "Do you accept my help?"

Kristopher Benito only thought it over a moment -not even remotely long enough to truly understand the implications of his actions. Still, one could ponder that for a life-time. Decisions span generations. Madamus would make sure of that.

"I accept your offer, Madamus. Thank you, from me, and my family," he took his hand gently, and kissed it.

Vito led Kristopher out of the office.

The cat still stood in the center of the desk. He fingered the pare patch of skin. It was grey; a virgin to the sunlight. The cat looked up into his, green eyes meeting milky red.

"I should have named you," Madamus said softly, stroking white fur. "Perhaps I will."

A tongue like sand paper ran along his fore-finger. He pushed another finger towards the cats mouth to incite a second lick. It never came. "I'm going to name you  _Shorthair_ ," Madamus said to the cat.  _In reference to both the animals breed, and it's short hair. Descriptive. All names should have meanings._

Madamus dug two fangs into Shorthair. The cat only had a moment to react -to thrash claws at the mans leathery face. But she lost energy quickly; Madamus consumed it. The cat was a she. He hadn't checked before, but he could always tell once the draining began. Her life energy was dim -a third as bright as humans- but it still satisfied the craving enough. It was a hold-over for the inevitable main course. Birthed the day of the  _Binding,_  the thirst was eternal.

Once Shorthair was empty, Madamus threw her corpse aside, and drew back to the window. Once again, he gazed out across the gardens. The sunlight was momentarily blocked by a threatening cloud, so the pain was only a dim glow. The wedding ceremony had finished, the crowd of onlookers had moved from the sea of seats to the freshly mowed lawn.

Three sharp knocks on the door. Madamus did not look away from the window, he knew it was Michael. "Come in," he said.

Carmella and Virgil packed themselves into the Ford Country Squire -last years birthday present- with the words  _Just Married_  painted across the back window in Italian. Family waved, women wiped tears from painted cheeks. The couple lingered outside the automobile, chatting, and eventually tossing a bouquet of flowers to a flock of white-clad women.

Michael held a tabby in his arms. He approached the desk, and put the cat in the center.

"Shorthairs in the corner," Madamus motioned to the corpse.

"Ahh, so you're naming them now," Vito stuffed the dead cat into a trash bag.

"Get the ledger," Madamus said. "We have a new favor to mark in."

"Another?" Vito said. "You're backed up a century, at least."

"Right -there's no time to waste. Mark House Benito down as  _indebted_ to Aster," Madamus commanded from behind the desk.

"As you command, sir," Vito left with a nod.

Madamus thumbed the silk aside. Angelo shook Virgil's hand, kissed his sister, then strode off away from the crowd.  _Always quick with appearances, not unlike his father._ The cloud blocking the sun was whisked away by strong wind, and the sun once again pierced his skin.

The newlyweds entered the car, rolled the windows down and waved out of the windows. Madamus squinted his eyes. Virgil twisted the ignition, and the automobile detonated.

The fire engulfed the car and crowd. The light so intense it ripped into his skull, rubbing salt into the grooves of his brain. His nerves pummeled.

_A family fragmented. Another child lost to the fire. Another name in my ledger. This day is growing busier._

Madamus took a tuft from the tabby's neck with the serrated comb.


	2. Norville

_Crystal Cove - October 20th, 2004_

"If you can't do the work, I'm not paying you," the voice on the phone grew angrier. "I give you a one-hundred dollar retainer, and now you want  _more?_ "

She was right. Norville knew that, but money was also tight. Sometimes you had to be the bad guy for the sake of your own skin.

"I'm doing the work, but these things take time," Norville said.

"I understand, but why not show me evidence before I pay you anything more?"

"Because it wouldn't interest you, unless you want photos of him watching a movie alone, or feeding the ducks... I've been tailing your husband for the past week, I'm not doing it for free," he said. "If you want to continue using my service, you're going to have to pay."

"Over-pay," she said. "You know, the only reason why I hired you in the first place because I thought you were cheap -you make it  _look_  like it was going to be cheap, but you're nickel and diming me,"

"If you're not happy with my services you can find someone else," Norville said plainly.

"Oh, I will. There's more private detectives in this town than street-lights. Just so you know, your office smelled like weed and old dogs. I scrubbed my entire body clean with a brillow pad after sitting in those chairs."

"Okay. I'm shredding your file. You have a nice day."

"You too, Shaggy."

That made him pause.  _I haven't heard that name since high-school._  The receiver hummed steadily, the moment lingering.

"How do you know that name?" The inflection of his voice came off more paranoid then he intended.  _This person could be a stalker -maybe some begrudged criminal fresh out of prison looking for revenge._ His mind raced.

"We went to high-school together. I saw your ad in the phone-book and recognized your name. Well,  _thought_ I recognized your name, I wasn't sure. Once I heard you voice, well..." there was a moment of static. "I should have expected this from you, but I thought I'd take a chance -try and do the townies a favor. Especially a  _genuine_  Crystal Cove celebrity."

 _A washed up celebrity - and only at age twenty-four..._  "I didn't recognize your name," Norville admitted. He tried to make the connection.  _She said her name was Sam Reddon. Sam could be short for Samantha... she seems slightly younger than me._ Too many faces, and too many names. High-school was a surreal time in his life with too many experiences to unravel.

"We never knew each other, I was just aware of you and our group of friends. Hell, everyone in that high-school was," another staticy silence bubbled up between them. "You were cooler when you were Mystery Incorporated." _I don't know how to respond._  Though Sam was mostly talking to herself. "Get your shit together, Shaggy," the line went dead.

 _Another customer lost, another bridge from high-school burned._ All in all a satisfying day.  _At least I still that one-hundred dollar retainer..._

Shaggy was behind on his bills. His air conditioning had broken the month before, and he had tarnished the privilege of seeking out and complaining to his landlord.  _Only paying tenants can complain._

Plus, he  _was_ only paying only half-price for the apartment to begin with. Seven years before, when Norville was still in high-school and Mystery Incorporated wasn't a fading memory of news clippings and old VHS tapes of forgotten reporters, they had worked a case at Funland park which lead to the arrest of Sarah Jenkins. Her husband Leland Jenkins was the only one involved in the scheme with good intentions, and he was never arrested for the trouble he unintentionally caused.  _For good reason._

Mr. Jenkins was now Norville's landlord. His crimes were exonerated, but he must have felt some sort of guilt from the whole thing. He  _had_ put up with Norville's missed bills and incessant weed cloud for the last two years, and  _even_  let him run his own private investigations firm out of the apartment. It was convenient, and inexpensive, but that only gave Norville guilt of his own.

Norville's kitchen was unkempt as the rest of his apartment. The mess stemmed from laziness, and blatant disregard. Most of time he didn't even notice it. It was only when he sat at the dive bar drinking daiquiris -attempting to talk a woman back to his apartment- did he ever worry of the  _mess._  Even then, when he stumbled home alone past the abandoned Spook Museum did he once again realize that the  _mess_  was eternal, and his worrying didn't matter to begin with.

So he ignored the pile of unwashed dishes squatting in the equally filthy sink, he pulled two dog bowls from the top of the pile. One bowl said _'Ruby',_  the smaller bowl said  _'Scrappy,'_  half-faded. His mind swept aside the small piles of ash and layer of grime resting on the counter-top, instead he took the bag of food and filled the bowls.

Ruby could have been a show-dog in her youth, and Norville speculated the old girl  _still_  could take a few medals home. Her fur was a unique hue; tan, with an aura of pink. A crooked bow -the same shade as her aura- rested between her ears. Small tufts of grey grew above her eyebrow, and sprouted up sporadically along her chest.  _She's showing her age, but she's still got a few years left in her._  Norville always tried to be optimistic, but lately it was growing difficult.  _Those good memories fade faster than the bad,_  Norville thought of the gang.

Scrappy slept in the nook of Ruby's stomach.  _He looks so much like Scooby, and most of his mannerisms are similar. But Scooby never could have slept like that._ The puppies stomach rose and fell in soft, rhythmic motions.  _Scooby would wake from a creaky floorboard._  Ruby gazed at Norville knowingly, then nuzzled Scrappy s neck.  _A stare so human, you would think they were about to to speak. Now that would be mysterious._

Scrappy woke once the bowls were tossed to the floor with a reverberating  _thwap._  He scampered to his meal on unsteady paws and ate ravenously; you would have thought Norville never fed the animal, as he smashed his maw against the pile of food and inhaled the dish in the time it took Ruby to start.

Norville's desk was the most organized part of the entire apartment, but even then it was still a cluttered mess of stacked paper, trinkets, and half-spent incense. There were two framed pictures on the desk, one of them cracked.

The first picture, closest to the computer and furthest from the incense, was of Mystery Incorporated. The gang. The picture itself was blurry, and black and white -a newspaper clipping.  _Local High-School Students Solve Cold-Case,_  the heading read. It was their first investigation, and the first criminal they caught: Mr. Wickles. He was a museum curator involved in a convuluted plot involving a priceless set of armor that Norville and his friends  _conveniently_ stumbled upon.

In the picture the gang stood in front of a flowered hippy van -what would eventually be The Mystery Machine.  _Only back then it was only my 'gross pedo van,' as Daphne would put it... Velma never cared, and Fred always saw the potential_   _of the old Econoline._

Norville remembered the moment vividly. Fred and Daphne stood furthest back, his arm around her. Him in a Letterman jacket, her wearing one of his over-sized sweatshirts. Velma sheepishly in the center, glasses crooked. Norville crouched at the bottom holding Scooby -only a puppy at the time.  _We were all happy. I was happy._

In the picture Norville was wearing Jinco jeans, a green flannel, and a visor.  _If anything has changed for the better, it's my clothes._  There was something oddly appealing about those Jinco's, though. They just screamed  _nineties_ , and made the respectable clothing he wore now feel bland.

The cracked picture frame, sitting on the opposite side of the desk next to a leaning pile of paper, held a picture of Scooby. He was older in this picture - _they_ were. In the picture Norville held a cowering Scooby in his arms. The dogs limbs gripped Shaggy awkwardly, as if holding on for life.  _He was scared by a beetle on the ground..._  Norville once found that endearing, but now it only made him sad.

The pictures had distracted him. The pictures  _always_ distracted him.  _I did come to this desk for a reason, right?_  Norville's computer was an angular white box of sharp edges and tangled wires. A strong internet connection was  _not_  something he spent his extra dimes on, so he had to unplug the Ethernet cable from his phone-line and connect it to the computer before using the internet.  _Trade-offs. Bad internet, so I can afford lucky charms. Wouldn't have it any other way._

He had four new messages in his Aol inbox. Score. One of them caught his eye immediately. The email was from a feddyJones@Aol.mail Norville's stomach dropped. A message from Fred, what could this be about? The paranoia from before returned. Norville clicked on it without thinking

_Norville,_

_I hope you are doing well, friend. I'm sorry for not reaching out earlier, but these last few years have been so busy I haven't had a moment to breathe._   _Velma_ _and I are coming back to Crystal Cove Monday, November_  1st.  _Studying criminal justice was_ _a blast (sense my sarcasm?) but w_ e _have a lot of plans on the horizon, and there is a piece of real estate we are both interested in._ _I know a lot has changed, and there are a lot of... I don't even know what to call it -unresolved emotions, I guess. I just don't want you to feel weird about us coming back. You are and always will be my friend, beyond anything else. Let us know when you're around._

_-Fred_

Norville closed the message, closed the browser, then shut off his computer. Ruby came trotting up, Scrappy tailing her. He pet them, and they licked his hands. He looked at the picture of Scooby, and wondered if Ruby missed him as much as he did.


	3. Frederick

_Crystal Cove Interstate - November 1st, 2004_

"I bet Shaggy still has the Mystery Machine."

"Oh, he does, and he doesn't like being called that anymore," Velma said.

"I thought that was his shtick,  _Shaggy & Hound: Private Eye, _cashing in on our fifteen minutes of Crystal Cove fame."

"I think he gave that up once Scooby died," she took her coffee from the cupholder and cradled it. "He changed the name of the business. It's  _Norville & Hounds: Private Eye_ now."

"So, who's the hound?"

"Hound _s_ ," Velma reiterated. "He adopted Scooby's sister, and her puppy."

"I hope he's happy," Fred said. "I didn't know you talked to him. When?"

"A few months ago, while I was still in school," Velma rolled up the sleeves of her turtleneck. "We had a long, deep conversation, as always, but we didn't really talk about life or work beyond him updating me on his own," she looked down sheepishly, nervously fidgeting. "I didn't tell him we were coming back to Crystal Cove."

Fred spaced out on the road.

"Have you talked to him recently?" Velma eventually asked.

_Unless you count that vague email I drunkenly sent him last week, I haven't talked to Shaggy -Norville- in years. Years. My friend. What does that make me?_

"I sent him an email last week," he admitted. "I told him we're coming back to Crystal Cove, but I  _may_  have added more than we wanted."

"Well, what did you tell him?"

"I don't remember everything, I'll have to look at the email again. But I remember I mentioned something about a piece of real estate we were looking at."

Velma sighed. "You basically spelled it out for him, Fred. He's not stupid."

The sound of the highway was lulling, Fred had been driving all day, but only picked Velma up a few hours ago.  _I knew I should have gotten an apartment closer to college. Taking the train was miserable._ Still, none of that mattered now, but it was easy to forget. Two years had passed since his graduation, but those stresses for some reason still unconsciously troubled him.

"We're gonna have to tell him," Velma cut the silence. "It's not fair."

"I know, but I don't want to hurt him," Fred said.

"Me neither," Velma admitted meekly. "It's just that... we're in the wrong, and we know it. Regardless of how great the property is, and how are credentials line up, and the market..."

"Regardless,  _Shaggy & Hounds_ was supposed to be  _Shaggy & Friends,_" Fred said.

"Precisely," Velma's voice cracked. She took a deep, composing breathe. "So we offer him a job," Velma asserted.

"He's changed."

"We've all changed, Fred."

"We didn't partner up with to begin with for a reason," Fred said.

"And what was  _your_  reason -what was both of our reason,  _and_ Daphne's?"

His stomach instinctively dropped at the sound of her name.  _Forget it. Forget her._  But he could already smell her aroma, he could feel her energy, he could see the glimmer in her eye that indicated she was his. That no matter what happened in their lives, or between them, they would always be together. And then he heard those bone-chilling words suppurating from the recesses of his mind. " _I can't give you what you want, Freddy. Not anymore. You can't have me. Find someone else to love."_

"We were on to do bigger and better things," Velma said. "We were pursuing our aspirations, and we weren't going to let our bum friend get in the way."

_Harsh._ His face must have showed it.

"I know it sounds harsh, but we believed that to be true," Velma said. "Now we realize that we were in the wrong, but we still beat around the bush and lie to his face in the hopes that the pain he will inevitably -and probably currently- feels will somehow how be quelled. When in reality all of this has done has just made it worse."

"So at the end of the day we are and always will be assholes?"

"Pretty much,  _unless_  we offer him a job," Velma reiterated.

"Or," Fred said after a moment, "we finally accept his offer."

"That's interesting, but I wouldn't that defeat the purpose of us coming back here in the first place? The property... the deal," Velma's words hung in the air.

"You look different," Fred said.

"I lost my glasses this morning. I'm blind as a bat."

"I remember."


End file.
